


Bone of the Father (Blood of the Enemy)

by Ellory



Series: bone of the father [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Blood Adoption, Blood and Injury, Bullying, Death Eaters, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Kidnapped Harry, Minor Character Death, Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sentient Family Magic, Triwizard Tournament, Vassalage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: Heiress Hariana Potter doesn’t exist. Not anymore. Dark Magic Rituals that call for “bone of the father” and “blood of the enemy” have side effects when that “enemy” is a living Horcrux.
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Female Harry Potter, Tom Marvolo Riddle & Female Harry Potter
Series: bone of the father [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572937
Comments: 135
Kudos: 1374





	Bone of the Father (Blood of the Enemy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbeyrh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeyrh/gifts).

> By necessity, a small piece of dialogue is directly quoted from both _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ and _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._

At first, all Hariana Potter could feel was agony and terror. Blood ran down her skin. The ritual knife Wormtail violated her arm with had cut to the bone. She knew she was supposed to be brave, that her parents would want her to fight and never give up. 

Hariana didn’t feel brave. 

She felt like she was going to die.

Wormtail leaned over the cauldron and said, “Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.”

The instant Wormtail poured her blood in the burning red potion, Hariana knew that her entire life was about to change. She could feel it deep in her magic. What once was bright and good and a beacon in the darkest abyss, became an abyss itself. The more blood Wormtail dumped in the cauldron, the deeper the ache went. 

The potion turned a blinding white. Steam appeared in the air, blocking her sight. Until, at last, the Dark Lord Voldemort rose from the cauldron.

His rebirth settled the hurricane of magic inside her, bringing with it peace and comfort. 

Hariana trembled where she was imprisoned. A thick, golden bond entrenched itself in her soul; it was him. It was Voldemort as she had never felt him before, protective and possessive and violent, yes, but not towards her. Hariana suddenly had an unshakeable faith that Voldemort would never harm her in any way, and a baseless assurity that he would kill any of his followers who sought to hurt her.

If she hadn’t been bound to the headstone, she still wouldn’t have been able to move. Hariana was petrified with fear. What was this? How was he—his magic—inside her?

It took longer than it probably should have for Hariana to recognize the feeling. It had been almost thirteen years since she last felt so stable and safe. Not since the night her parents had been murdered—murdered by the very wizard who was now her father in Magic and Blood and Bone and Flesh.

“Father,” Hariana whispered in disbelief. 

She could not believe it. 

Would not. 

_ Would never. _

Voldemort turned to face her. He was nothing like she had imagined, but if he had always looked like this, it wasn’t difficult to figure out how he had charmed so many purebloods into following him and swearing themselves to his cause. 

He was tall and fit, with thick black hair and eyes that were only a few shades green off hers. He was classically handsome. It must have taken hardly any effort at all to tempt his classmates to join him.

“Your wand, my Lord,” Wormtail simpered.

Voldemort accepted the wand, casually Crafted himself very detailed ebony robes, and then released Hariana from her binds. 

“Are you well?” he asked. 

Why? Why did he ask? He couldn’t possibly care! He had tried to kill her several times already. A familial bond couldn’t hold any importance to him. The monster had likely murdered his own family. 

Hariana waited for her fight or flight instinct to activate; it didn’t. She waited for her magic to scream that she was in danger; it didn’t. She waited for Voldemort to attack her, attempting to finish the job he started when she was a mere child. He didn’t. Instead, he stared at her as if she were a miracle.

Several seemingly careless flicks of his wand healed the wound she had received in the Maze of the Triwizard Tournament. He never spoke a single incantation. It was a display of wordless magic she had never seen exceeded, not even by Headmaster Dumbledore. It scared her witless.

“My arm hurts,” Hariana said. 

It felt silly to even mention it, but she was terrified to find out what he would do if she refused to answer his question. The cut wasn’t as bad as being bitten by a Basilisk, or as unending as wondering if the Muggles would let her eat, or as sharp and vicious as Skele-gro.

“Master, please,” Wormtail snivelled, holding out his bloody wrist.

Voldemort sneered at him and walked right past him to Hariana. His grip was gentle—why?—as he lifted her arm and brushed the tip of his yew wand down the wound caused by the ritual knife, healing it. 

“I promise he will never hurt you again,” Voldemort said, as if Wormtail hadn’t cut her open to the bone on his orders.

“I know,” Hariana said. 

And she did. She believed him without a doubt, even though it made no sense. She could feel the honesty and protectiveness thrumming down their bond; it was more overwhelming than the Imperius Curse had been, because  _ she didn’t want to fight it. _

All Hariana wanted was to feel safe. Voldemort, of all people, was offering it to her.

With the stability of the familial bond, and Voldemort’s influence in magic, Hariana acknowledged and embraced her Slytherin side. She admitted to herself why she really hadn’t helped Cedric Diggory in the Maze.

The moment before she grabbed the Triwizard Cup, all unknowing that it was a Portkey meant to transport her to be a Dark Magic Ritual ingredient, Hariana was only thinking about how cruel the Hufflepuffs had been to her all year. How they had cast cutting curses at her bag, so her books and assignments would tumble out all over the floor. How they had worn “Potter Stinks” badges. How Diggory had stood by and done absolutely nothing to stop the bullying.

That spiteful bout of revenge had led to something infinitely precious, in all its baffling, horrifying complexity: Hariana had a father. 

_ A living father. _

He had murdered her previous parents. And yet, she could not hate him. Not with awe and wonder and adoration inundating her via their new bond. She felt  _ wanted _ and  _ cherished _ for the first time she could remember.

“You’ll have to go back to Hogwarts,” Voldemort said. 

He didn’t sound happy about it in the least, and annoyance radiated through their bond. 

“But not yet. I won’t part from you yet, dearest.”

The pet name struck right at her heart, drowning out thousands of bitter epithets spewed from the Dursleys’ lips.  _ Girl. Freak. Unnatural. Unwanted. Mistake. _

“You’re beautiful,” Voldemort said, as he stared at her covetously. “My beautiful daughter.  _ Mine.” _

Hariana bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying as the Slytherin Family Magic swaddled her. She finally felt safe.

“Please, my Lord,” Wormtail begged, sniffling and crying.

Voldemort scowled at the interruption and said, “Oh, very well, come here. Give me your arm.”

“Thank you, my Lord!” 

Wormtail hurried over to them. He proferred his bleeding wrist.

“Not that arm, Wormtail. The other one!” Voldemort snapped. 

He grabbed Wormtail’s left arm, shoved up his sleeve, and then paused. A delighted macabre grin overtook his face.

“Well, isn’t that  _ interesting. _ Today’s full of surprises, it seems.” 

Hariana stared at where she knew a Dark Mark was meant to be. She had seen one not long ago on Headmaster Karkaroff. Now, in place of the Dark Mark, Wormtail had the Slytherin Crest on his forearm. She hadn’t seen anything like it out of history books about the Middle Ages, during which it was common to mark Vassals in such a way. It was an acknowledgement of service and a deterrent against foes, a claim of protection.

“Did you feel anything when it changed, Wormtail?” Voldemort asked.

“No, my Lord.”

“Perfect.” 

Voldemort stared at the Crest greedily, then placed his wand against it. 

“I, Lord Marvolo Slytherin, denounce and release from their Vows all who are not loyal in Magic, Mind, Heart, and Soul.”

Before Hariana could ask what he meant, the Slytherin Crest on Wormtail’s arm vanished. His arm was unmarked.

“My L-Lord, please. I s-swear I—”

Marvolo Summoned the ritual knife and slit Wormtail’s throat with it. 

“We have no use for disloyalty and traitors,” he said, watching dispassionately as Wormtail scrabbled at his torn throat with one hand; it did nothing to stem the flow of blood.

All Hariana felt at the sight was satisfaction. She had gotten vengeance for her first parents against the wizard who betrayed them. The same wizard that had tied her up and stolen her blood for a Dark Magic Ritual when he owed her a Life Debt. Someone so without honor didn’t deserve to live.

“How many are still Vassals?” Hariana asked. 

The Slytherin Family Magic was new to her and, though it had settled hard and fast, she wasn’t skilled at interpreting it yet.

The idea of Vassals intrigued her. To have someone on her side, willing to help her at all times, was a mere fantasy before the botched ritual that had, somehow, made her world better.

She had been kidnapped and gained a Father, Vassals, safety, the Slytherin Family Magic, and . . . Hariana didn’t want to give it up. 

It was everything she had ever wanted for herself. The desires she hid deep in her heart. The reason that the Sorting Hat had tried to convince her to Sort Slytherin, despite her repetitious begging of “Not Slytherin!”

Marvolo grinned at her and cupped her cheek. 

“All the ones who matter, dearest.” 

He laughed, and she couldn’t help but laugh with him. 

“You’ve no need to worry about Karkaroff or Severus. Their Marks will be gone entirely; they will have no cause to assume I’m anything but truly dead now.”

“Good. I’d like nothing less than to have any type of bond with Snape.”

“I shall Summon the rest. It would give me the greatest pleasure to introduce you to them as my dearest daughter and Heiress Slytherin,” said Marvolo. “But before I do. . . .” 

He swished his wand at her and her torn clothes turned into a stunning black gown. A signet ring appeared on his right hand. A smaller, more delicate version appeared on hers. She felt the warmth in hers as her father ran his thumb over the Slytherin Crest and pressed magic into it. 

“Now, we wait. They will come.”

“Am I to be renamed as well, Father?” she asked, thoughts still lingering on his intention to introduce her as  _ Heiress Slytherin. _

“Yes, but not until the Summer Solstice, dearest.”

Before Hariana could ask why they needed to wait, the sounds of Apparition began to fill the graveyard. Wizards and witches, many of whom were Lords and Ladies and Heirs and Heiresses, appeared before them in the finest robes and gowns that Hariana had ever seen in person. 

They all stared at Marvolo with unabashed joy and awe, as if he were an impossibility.

“My Lord.”

“How is such a thing possible?”

“You’ve returned to us with the Slytherin Mantle!”

“My Lord.”

“My Lord!”

There was one wizard in particular, though, that drew Hariana’s attention. He was older, perhaps sixty or seventy, though he didn’t look it. His magic confessed his maturity, strong and inflexible, set in its ways. He had dark brown curls, with just a hint of gray, and eyes that resembled molten gold. It was his curls and eyes that gave away his identity. She saw them everyday at Hogwarts. He was Lord Theodred Nott. 

Theodred smiled and said, “It has been a long time, my friend.”

“Too long,” Marvolo replied solemnly. “I regret that.” 

He meant it, too; she could feel it.

Hariana walked over to Theodred. There was something  _ intriguing _ about his magic; the Slytherin Family Magic embraced the Nott Lord almost as fiercely as it embraced her. Why . . . ? 

She brushed her magic against it and  _ understood _ why this wizard was so important that her father, who had been Voldemort, would essentially apologize to him in front of a crowd of the choicest pureblood aristocracy.

“You are the First,” Hariana stated. 

Theodred Nott was the very first wizard or witch to swear allegiance to her father. He was the First Vassal. The First to obey and implement Marvolo’s will. The First to receive protection in the event of such a need. If Marvolo were ever in a situation where multiple of his Vassals were in mortal peril, and he could only save one, Theodred would be saved every single time if he were one of those in danger.

“Yes, my lady,” Theodred said, before bowing to her. “It always has been and ever will be the highest of honors to serve the Just and Most Olde House of Slytherin.”

Marvolo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. He kissed her forehead.

“Theodred, it’s my honor to introduce you to my daughter, Heiress Slytherin. We’ll have her renaming ceremony during the Summer Solstice.”

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Theodred said. “I have waited a very long time to meet my best friend’s child.”

As her father guided her through the crowd, introducing her to more than half of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Hariana couldn’t help but notice that not one of the Lords or Heirs offered her a hand, to kiss hers. Oh, Morgana, the Founders were part of the Oligarchy, weren’t they? She was going to have to learn an even more intricate set of rules and customs of pureblood etiquette.

The last Lord in the group, Augustus Rookwood, inclined his head and offered something that flashed gold in the fading sunlight. It took a moment for Hariana to recognize that it was a Time-Turner. 

“So that Heiress Slytherin can return to Hogwarts without being missed, my Lord.”

“Excellent planning, as usual, Augustus,” Marvolo said. 

He accepted the Time-Turner and placed it over Hariana’s head.

“Do I have to go now?” Hariana asked. 

She didn’t want to leave her new father. What if the distance stretched the bond too far and it snapped? What if the Hogwarts Wards interfered with her ability to feel the Cloak of Family Magic her father had wrapped around her to protect her? There was so much that could go wrong!

“Yes,” Marvolo replied. “You must leave now before I refuse to let you out of my sight. Use the Time-Turner, return to Hogwarts as if you never left, and wait for me on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters when the school year ends. I’ll come for you. I swear it.”

That was eight days away. Eight days hadn’t seemed like such an eternity since Hariana was first waiting to attend Hogwarts.

“Yes, Father.” 

Hariana leaned up to kiss his cheek. The stunned look on his face did nothing to disguise the wave of adoration that flooded down their bond. 

Hariana twisted the little hourglass in the Time-Turner twice. 

She landed and immediately ducked behind the cauldron, before weaving her way through the headstones in the graveyard. She whispered,  _ “Finite,” _ to return the beautiful gown back into torn robes. She couldn’t do anything about the minor wound she got in the Maze. Maybe the spectators would believe it had just caught her robe and not her skin? With regret, Hariana Willed her signet ring invisible.

It wasn’t long before her past-self landed a few feet away and dropped the Triwizard Cup. Hariana leaned forward and grabbed ahold of it before her past-self turned around. 

It swept her away. 

She landed on her feet at Hogwarts in the front of the Maze.

The audience gave a loud roar as Hariana hefted the Cup into the air.

There was a flurry of handshakes and congratulations, photographers taking pictures for  _ the Daily Prophet, _ and then she was on a stage, being handed a sack with the prize money as Minister Cornelius Fudge declared, “I give you the Triwizard Champion!”

As Hariana stepped down from the back of the stage, Professor Alastor Moody appeared beside her. His tongue flicked out against his lower lip.

“What really happened when you grabbed the Triwizard Cup, Potter?” 

“It brought me to the front of the Maze, Professor.” 

Why would he possibly think something had happened? Not even Dumbledore had seemed the slightest bit suspicious. Unless . . . had Moody been the one to program it to send her to that graveyard in the first place?

Moody reached out, as if to grab her by the arm, but a hand locked around his wrist before he could. 

“Unhand me, Nott,” Moody snapped.

“No,” Theodore Nott whispered. “The Polyjuice is messing with your Magic-sensing, Crouch. He will  _ kill you _ if you touch her.” 

Theodore released his wrist.

Ah, well that solved that mystery, then.

“You look a great deal like your grandfather, Heir Nott,” Hariana said. 

The family resemblance was uncanny, almost as if Theodore were a perfect copy, not yet fully-grown.

“And you have your father’s magic, Heiress Slytherin.” 

If a person had ever looked so smugly victorious before, Hariana hadn’t witnessed it. 

“Is he well, my lady?” Theodore asked.

“Heiress Slytherin?” was barely a hint of a whisper coming from Crouch’s Polyjuiced lips.

“Father is in perfect health, thank you,” Hariana replied, before catching Dumbledore approaching out of the corner of her eye. 

_ “Change the topic,” _ she hissed.

“All right, Nott,” Crouch said in Moody’s gruff voice, “I’m here to chaperone, so ask your question already so she can say no.”

Without fumbling the conversational ball, Theodore smiled shyly at her; if Hariana hadn’t seen his confidence and authority moments ago, she would have believed it. 

“I was wondering if you might allow me to write to you over the summer holiday, my lady. Would that be permissible?”

The Family Magic purred inside her at the idea.

“I think I’d like that,” Hariana answered. 

“There, lad, she said  _ no _ and . . .” 

Moody’s magic eyeball spun vigorously as Dumbledore joined them. 

“Potter, he’s a Nott! Nothing good has ever come out of that bloodline! You can’t be serious.”

Dumbledore twinkled at them and said, “I think it’s very good of her to give him a chance. Children aren’t their parents, Alastor. They can choose to walk a different path.”

It was true. 

Even now, Hariana knew she could change her mind. She could open her mouth and tell Dumbledore that Voldemort was reborn, sane, as Lord Marvolo Slytherin. She could say that she had played along after he used her against her will in a Dark Magic Ritual because she wanted to live and was terrified he would kill her. She could set every Auror in the country against him with a handful of words. 

Hariana stared into Theodore’s gold eyes, enraptured by the feel of his magic nestled within the Slytherin Family Magic, and kept her mouth shut.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Bone of the Father (Blood of the Enemy)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712306) by [Kaister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaister/pseuds/Kaister)


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